


Let's Be Friends

by ClarenceJ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brief Torture, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Gen, Jealousy, Nice Crowley (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Swearing, Teleportation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-10-10 21:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClarenceJ/pseuds/ClarenceJ
Summary: A few one-shots based around the imagine: Imagine being friends with Crowley.1. Imagine becoming friends with Crowley2. Imagine asking to pet Crowley's hellhound3. Imagine traveling like Crowley travels





	1. Friendships

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I don't own Supernatural or any of the character except my own. I felt like it would be nice to show some nice moments for Crowley because he doesn't get too many of them.  
Enjoy!

**Imagine actually being friends with Crowley**:

“Oh hi there Crowley! How’s it goin’ with you? Want something to drink?” you ask him as you walk into the kitchen of the bunker still wearing your pajamas from earlier in the morning. It had become a pretty regular occurrence for the boys to summon him in because of how many demon cases have been popping up and to be honest you don’t really mind him being here. He doesn’t stay for long, but you would feel bad not offering him anything when he is here.

“No, my dear but I’d like to know where those two tall buffoons have wandered off to,” he grumbles, still looking awkward standing in the kitchen as you grab a container of pasta out of the fridge.

You hop onto the countertop as it’s closer to the microwave and at Crowley’s level while the appliance groans as it begins to cook. “Well you can either wait with me or I can take a message. . .?” you trail off as the microwave whirrs in the background and your awkwardness earns a devilish smirk from Crowley.

He looks more devious than normal. “You would voluntarily be with me in the same room without a truly horrible reason? Really?” He poses the question partly in disbelief and that he’s almost inviting you to take the statement back, but no. You really don’t mind the handsome demon even though he can be trouble, you happen to like his accent and he makes you laugh. Now that you think about it, there are a lot of things you like about him.

“Well yeah,” you say before putting a forkful of hot pasta into your mouth, rolling it around so it doesn't burn your mouth (as badly at least). “I mean I like you,” you shrug. “You don’t cause me trouble and you don’t insult me like the guys so yeah, that makes me like you a little.” You take another bite, missing the incredulous look he gives you. “I mean you also help us a lot so that’s actually even more of a reason to like you,” you continue looking down into your bowl.

You look up to see him eyeing your pasta as it continues to scald your hand through the bowl. “You sure you don’t want any? There’s more in the fridge,” you tilt your head in that direction, watching him until he shakes his head with a scoff. “Come and sit!”

He looks between all of his options; the tacky bowl, the most likely sub-par pasta, the worn seat, and then you. You sitting there in a worn t-shirt and silky black shorts and all at 2pm. “I guess so, why not? Having lunch with a hunter inside their hunter bunker,” he mutters gruffly making you smile. “What could possibly go wrong?”

And that’s how it started. Crowley would pop in to help the boys and you’d always offer to make him something or let him sit around with you both before and after his help. Sometimes he’d take you up on it, talking about his day or your day, depending on the subject. It was going very well and you looked forward to when he would pop in next until the boys started looking at you funny.

“Y/N, so what’s going on with you and Crowley lately?” Sam asks out of the blue one day in the library. “I feel like I see him here at least twice, nearly three times a week, and I know it’s not related to cases anymore ‘cause there aren’t any more demon cases we’re on. He also asks for you. A lot.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. We just sit around and chat,” you say offhandedly. “I mean I like it, chatting with him,” you clarify. Sam raises his eyebrows until the nearly blend in with his hair.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. You like having meals and chatting with the literal King of Hell. That’s not normal. That’s not cool,” he emphasizes.

“What’s not cool?” Dean asks as he walks through the door. _‘Crap’ _you suddenly realize. They’re going to be all over your case about this.

“Nothi-,” you try to say but Sam isn’t having it.

“Y/N and Crowley are getting chummy. She likes sitting down with him, the King of Hell, and chatting,” he rats you out. Your glare could cut diamonds as you aim it right at Sam’s face.

“Woah what!” Dean cries as he nearly drops the book he’s holding. “You? And you and Crowley? What? Am I in hell right now?” he continues to rant on, “You and a demon? He’s a literal demon Y/N! What the hell are you thinking!”

That’s it. You can’t take it anymore. “The only reason you don’t like him is because you both treat each other like shit so of course you hate him! Think of how many times he translates for us! Think of how many times he has helped us with cases and all you can say is ‘beat it asshole’ after he’s done!” you yell at them, shutting them up. You’re actually angry and they can tell.

“When he doesn’t help then you capture him and throw holy water on him until he does! He’s nice to me and he has more to say than complaining about you both! He likes my cooking and is actually really funny and is kind of my friend so shut the hell up about it.” You end your rant less angry than you started until you hear a slow clapping behind you.

“Well then love,” Crowley smirks, “and here I thought you couldn’t get angry at those two, and certainly not about me.” Your face is BURNING with how embarrassed you are. “So now we’re friends?” he asks humorously and you’re mouth runs dry. _‘Crap!’_

“Uh, well, I would call you a friend, I mean with the mutual caring and whatnot,” you try to play it cool but he sees right through that.

He smiles and you give him a tight smile back. “I guess we could be called persons who mutually care for one another,” he smirks with a wink. You feel like you could fall into the ground until you turn around to see Sam and Dean fuming. “I brought dinner this time,” Crowley mentions behind you and while you hear the bag he must have in his hand crinkle, you can see the moment Dean snaps.

“That’s fuckin’ it!” he slaps the table before storming around it. “Don’t you lay a finger on her or it’s your ass we’ll gank next!” he booms and in the large space it echoes around as he tries to get nose to nose with the demon until you push him back roughly.

“Dean stop it!” you yell at him. “This has been going on for well over a month so stop it! If you're jealous and want to have a special meal with me then we can do that but I’m old enough that you don’t need to go around ripping heads off of other people want my attention.” The silence is deafening in the moment.

“Would you like to still chat this evening? We don’t have to do dinner at this point,” Crowley asks from behind you. Even after being mad at Dean and Sam’s reaction it makes you smile hearing him being so kind to you.

“I would still love to have dinner. To be honest, I’ve been looking forward to this and now that I know I’m officially dining with a mutually caring person,” you give him a funny look, “I’m looking forward to it even more.”

“Well then enjoy your night lads because tonight Y/N and I will be taking our time with dinner. You may want to plan your own evening if you get this jealous squirrel,” he nods to Dean before holding out his arm for me to loop mine into. _‘It’s good to have such a nice friend.’_


	2. Imagine Asking Crowley if You Can Pet His Hellhound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title is pretty self explanitory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of what the hellhound looks like:  
https://images.app.goo.gl/FGqPb4cgYprfxwZf9

It’s been a while since Crowley last had dinner with you. They guys had shooed him out quickly after learning you two were becoming chummy but you missed the Scottish drawl and the complaining about the other demons.

“Hey Y/N? You listening to me?” Dean snaps his fingers in front of your face to get you out of your trance.

“Uh- we- yeah!” you jump. “What’s up?”

“The case you were supposed to be looking in on,” he snarks back while rolling his eyes, “Where were you just now? Off in la la land?”

“No, I was just-,” You sigh. “I’ll get some stuff for the case and we can head out in a bit.” Dean rolls his eyes again before sitting back in the chair. _‘You could help too’ _you think bitterly as you pull up page after page on your computer, sitting on the shitty bed in the dank motel room.

Dean breaks the silence after a few minutes, grating on your concentration. “Gah! What’s taking Sam so long with the burgers and beers?” You tilt your head at the statement.

“Um, Sam went to the library for more research,” you tell him slowly. You thought he knew that but judging by the look on his face he didn’t.

“Shit man!” Dean explodes, shooting out of his chair and slapping his hands on his thighs. “I’m going out for burgers and beer. I'll hunt some grub for us, I’ve got’chu,” he nods as he walks to the door, plaid and jacket in hand.

Your stomach rolls at the thought of more greasy burgers. The beer you don’t mind but the gross food was a little much for you right now. You wanted the clean and warm Italian food Crowley brought last time you had a night in with him. Hell, you wanted to do anything but research right now! _‘At least something to take my mind off of shitty assignments’ _you shake your head as you click out of yet another news page.

“This is quite the dump you’ve found yourself in.” You snap your head up to find just the person in your thoughts and a smile creeps up your face. Ever the immaculate dresser, Crowley is like putting a marble statue in the middle of a garbage yard with his black leather shoes and expertly measured suit. “Well do I not even get a ‘hello how are you’ for stopping in?” he retorts.

“I could kiss you right now!” You sigh heavily in relief at the excuse to not have to do more and more research.

“Not the reaction I expected but I have to say that’s quite generous of you love,” he drawls with another smirk gracing his lips.

You let your body go slack on the bed as you look up at him with renewed interest. “Honestly I’m more excited about the fact you’re distracting me from finding another case while Sam and Dean are out. I’ve been looking for over an hour and I’m already bored out of my mind!” you laugh brightly.

Another smirk graces his lips at your excitement. “I’m glad I can be of service to your desire to avoid responsibility,” he nods. A thought crosses over your mind making you squint your eyes and tilt your head slightly.

“You know, I was thinking about getting a dog, like a guard dog but way cooler. Maybe I could adopt one,” you shrug. “Do you have pets?” Your eyebrows raise to your hairline when he nods his head.

“Hellhounds?” he says in a tone where he might as well have said ‘duh’.

“Oh, right.” You hold your breath for a moment, thinking about what a hellhound is like- _‘oh’ _you realize. “What is it like having a hellhound? Is it like a regular dog beside the whole souls for food and whatnot?”

He raises one eyebrow in curiosity. “I suppose it’s like any other dog in regards to the shape but everything else is not as usual,” he mutters before sliding a hand over his forehead. “What is all of this about? You want a dog so you inquire about my hounds? You feeling alright there?” he chuckles again.

You feel bad for making him awkward but then again I don’t think nearly anything could make Crowley uncomfortable. Realization crosses over you as well as curiosity. “Do you think-? Could I-? No, never mind,” you mutter, picking up your computer again and going back to the grind.

“And now you’re shy? Ha!” he barks, throwing his head back for a moment. “Tell me what you were thinking then, go on,” he urges until you just feel frustrated and fed up with his nagging.

“Fine! I wanted to ask if I could- well, you know. . .” you trail off, but he shakes his head, eyebrows raised and expectant expression. “I wanted to know if I could pet one of your hellhounds,” you whisper to him, embarrassed now because saying it out loud seems silly and you bet even Crowley thinks so.

He pinches his brow before standing from the motel seat with a slight smirk. “If you wanted to see her then you should have asked sooner.” His smirk becomes even wider but all you feel is confused and a bit embarrassed still.

“So you’ll let me?” The disbelief in your voice is poorly concealed and he just decides to laugh right at you. “Is it safe? Like I won’t be clawed to shreds?”

“You don’t owe your soul to anyone do you?” he asks rhetorically but you still shake your head no. “Then it is. Here,” he holds out his hands and your eyes widen as you see a pair of wire glasses in his hands with a long beaded chain around them. _‘This looks like something my grandmother would wear’ _you think silently.

“What do I do with these?”

“You hunters,” he scoffs. “It’s a surprise you don’t get yourselves killed more often. Put them on now,” he instructs patiently, but still a little sassy. You hold them out for a moment, taking them nonetheless and slip them over the bridge of your nose without another word from the demon.

“Okay,” you shrug, “Now what?”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he sighs. You blink and he’s gone! _‘What the hell!’ _you sigh. You don’t bother keeping the glasses on. You feel like an idiot wearing them in the first place and the hellhound isn’t even here so why wear them.

“Here we are.” You whirl around at the deep voice behind you and see his hand resting on something very large. Nearly to his chest large. Your guard is up and the itch for you to grab a knife or salt is almost enough to make your fingers twitch but your curiosity to see it is pushing that back. “Glasses on, pet,” he chides.

Slowly you raise the old lady glasses back onto your nose and the first thing you notice is the feet. The big black dog feet that have claws reminding you of a big cat. They might as well be daggers. The glasses settle on your nose while the beads create small ‘plinks’ as they hit each other.

“Oh wow,” you breathe lowly, nearly breathless with the surprise. “She’s beautiful.” And you really mean it. Sitting on her butt right next to Crowley is a big black muscular hound with her sleek hair shining in the crappy motel lighting. She reminds you of a great dane with pointed ears and a slick tail, looking like black oil shining on her, but what really gets you are the eyes. Bright red eyes lock onto yours and you can see why everyone would be terrified of these things.

“Don’t be shy. I’ve told her to behave. Come now Y/N, she won’t bite.” At those words, the hound's snout crinkles up revealing her razor-sharp teeth. _‘Two rows of sharp teeth’ _you notice. Your head spins at the combination and shock of it all. Crowley snaps you out of it by offering his hand, that you hesitantly take after a moment, stepping closers to him, close enough to smell the scotch on his clothes and his breath. Your hand is placed on the hounds back with his over yours and you’re surprised at how soft it is. Much softer than you’d ever think of.

“I don’t know what to- I have no-,” you stop trying to say anything because you feel like there’s no point. All that’s going to come out of your mouth is word vomit while you pet this creature literally from hell.

“She is my favorite.” It’s the first thing said in a few minutes as the only sound in the room is the occasional whine and the heavy pants of the hound. “I take great pride in the hounds I breed, and she is the biggest and the strongest.”

You huff causing the hound to turn her head in your direction, nose to nose. “You certainly did one hell of a job.”

There’s a jingle of keys outside of the door making your breath hitch and you immediately worry about the position you’re in.

“Dean I told you that I-,” Sam cuts off when he spots Crowley, his books clatter to the ground, Dean’s paper bags hit the table before you hear the cocking of his gun.

“It’s okay! It’s okay! Don’t shoot him and just be calm right now! Please!” you shout, panicked that if they shoot then this hellhound is going to rip your face off and then rip them to shreds.

“Why do you look like the old lady about to knit a sweater for her cat?” Dean demands from behind his gun.

You look away from the hell hound and focus on the boys. “Uh, well you were close but it’s a dog, a hound,” you stress and there’s a second before you know they understand all too well what you mean. The look on their faces is enough to make you feel like you're going to get quite the talking to.

“Tell me you didn’t.” The disappointment and blame is heavy in Sam's voice but you don't understand why because it's just a dog that you're petting!

“Damnit Y/N!” Dean yells with a smack on the tabletop, making you jump and the hound show her teeth once again. “You know better than to make deals!” _‘Wait what?'_

“Okay slow down and stop throwing fits so often! I didn’t make a deal! I didn’t want to do research and Crowley was here and I wanted a distraction and so I asked to pet his dog!” you try to explain quickly. This is what really throws off the brothers. Constantly shocking them and surprising them by doing stuff like this. The most innocent thing like asking to pet a dog, any dog, and now LITERALLY any dog.

“Wait, what dog?” You’ve got to be kidding me! What dog? Are they blind? 

“This dog right here? This giant hellhound that I am currently petting with the silkiest coat and the cutest ears I have ever seen, duh,” you tell them with an open mouth and wide eyes. _'Oh wait. The glasses.'_

“And the glasses?” Dean continues his questioning.

Now you put two and two together as you forget they can't see her without. “That’s why I look like the knitting cat lady,” you breathe in realization before shaking your head.

Crowley shuffles on his feet and then clicks his tongue signaling the beast to trot over to his side and then sit once again. “I see that her presence puts everyone on edge so we’ll be off.” You blush a little as you realize your innocent wish to pet a dog, even one so vicious, has created trouble. Shit, it’s even made more trouble than having dinner with the demon.

“Thank you, Crowley. I really liked that. Maybe I’ll think more about getting my own dog,” you huff a small and embarrassed laugh as you take the glass off, the hellhound disappearing from your sight, and hand the glasses back to your new friend.

“You’ll be fine with these two giants?” he motions to Sam and Dean standing by the door with their guns down but the bodies still rigid. You nod and give a small smile to him which he readily returns before popping off to wherever he goes. _‘Down to hell’ _you muse.

Dean looks positively pissed. “Alright now we really have to chat about this new friend of yours.” _‘Fuck.’_


	3. Imagine Traveling How Crowley Travels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own supernatural
> 
> TW: Some torture but it's not very graphic. This chapter got away from me a little bit as it turned into more of Crowley saving the reader but either way it's still good.

Supernatural Imagine #3

It had all started in the normal way every hunt starts. It was supposed to be a simple case, one demon, that’s all. That’s almost never all that it is. There was shit research on it, barely an idea oh why it was here, no paperwork on how or where it was killing, or even notes of any kind! All we knew was that it was some kind of demon.

“Damn it all to hell!” Dean shouts angrily and you flinch at the sudden sound. “We can’t find anything and I’m starving here!”

Sam scoffs. “Seriously Dean?”

You let out a twin sigh the same time as Sam does because you don’t want to hear their arguing. “We’ve been doing research all day and haven’t found anything in a while for the whole state, so why don’t we all go out to get some food and then we can regroup a little while later. Fresh eyes and stuff,” you mutter as you close out of your browser.

Both of the nods you receive tells you it’s time to go because believe it or not you’re actually craving a beer and some crappy food. After a ten minute ride, you all pull up to a dimly lit bar that smells like cheap smoke and heavy booze. Classic.

“Hey, listen, I’m gonna go clean up before we eat,” you offhandedly tell the guys. Dean’s annoyed expression gets cut off by a quick, “I forgot okay! Try not to order until I get back. Just grab a couple of beers,” before you scramble off to the dark bathroom. “I don’t know why they can’t have clean bathrooms at least,” you mumble to yourself as you step out of the stall and over to the sink. “Nasty as hell,” you mumble again as you scrub at your hands.

Reaching around for the paper towel you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Looking up into the mirror you find several pairs of black eyes staring at you before a sharp hit to the back of your head sends you sinking toward the floor.

Dean feels about ready to pound his head against the table. He knows how angry you get when the two of them order food without you. “C’mon man! How long does it take to piss? Seriously? Is she doing her hair or something?” His foot taps impatiently and then it moves to his hands. 

“Dude, can you stop complaining for one time today? It’s been like five minutes, maybe,” Sam guesses off the top of his head. “I’m sure you can wait for another minute.” And they do wait. Two minutes rolls by and turn into five which then turn into seven. By ten minutes they're sure something is wrong.

“Somethin’ isn’t right with this,” the older Winchester mutters. They calmly walk over to the bathroom, and when they're out of sight of others, he takes his gun out from his belt. Entering the bathroom they expect to get yelled at by you but there’s nothing except your phone on the sink counter. “SHIT!”

“Let’s go back to the motel and try to figure something out. We’ll find her,” Sam comforts weakly. “We will.”

The demons circle you like sharks before a punch lands on your stomach, knocking the air out of you with a huff and a groan. “Where is he?” he hisses.

“Where is who?” Another hit and another cry of pain.

“CROWLEY! Where is CROWLEY!” Each word is emphasized with a violent punch until your breath is stuttering to come. Sweat is beading on your forehead from the continuous punches that roll over you.

You have a bad idea but it's the only one you've got. “Like I’d tell you,” you groan.

The glee on their faces is unbearably obvious. “You will.” ‘_This will be a long night._’

“It’s been almost an hour Sam! We can’t keep doin' research and hoping we get lucky! C’mon! Think! Where would he take her? Think classic demon spots.”

“Fine then! Uh, abandoned buildings, warehouses, and uh, gross place. I don’t know Dean! There are so many places in this shit town I could think of two of the largest ones off the top of my head, but Dean they would take at least another two hours each to search and she doesn’t have that kind of time!” he argues back.

He runs a heavy hand over his face because he knows Sam is right. “Shit. Then you know who we should call.” Sam nods.

"He's going to rub it in our faces."

This is more than you think you can take. “I’ll ask you one more time hunter bitch,” the demon sneers as he fists the handle of the knife, “Where is Crowley?”

Your eyes can barely stay open as the blood flows in one and around your face, but as you open your eyes you see him there, right behind your demon with a blood covered angel blade. “Right here.” The light flashes bright white in the demon as it dies and you can barely believe your eyes. Your friend is here to save you. 

“Crowley?” You don’t care that your voice is small and weak and it cracks and breaks. You’re just happy to see him. A dark knight in a sharp suit.

“Well, well, well,” he tisks, putting the blade back into his suit jacket. “You seem to have gotten yourself in a bit of a pinch here,” he jokes with a smirk, but he frowns when you don’t return it. In fact, he begins to panic a little as your lip trembles and you start crying instead. Your eyes burn as the tears spill over. The pitiful sounds that usually make him feel good and powerful from torturing souls now makes him feel uncomfortable when it comes to you. “Come now Y/N, you’re alright.”

You don’t feel alright though. You feel your sprained wrist and ankle as they throb, there are burning cuts lining your arms and along your chest, and there is blood covering your face from your hairline to your jaw. Your throat hurts from screaming and you’re sure you’re covered head to toe in bruises from being beaten repeatedly. The last thing you are is alright.

“Get me the hell out of here!” you scream and sob at him as he doesn’t move fast enough to get you untied. That sure makes him work quickly though. He has to hold you to his chest tightly before he snaps his fingers, releasing you from the hold of the overhead ropes, sending your arms flopping gracelessly to your sides. They begin to hurt more as the circulation comes back into the limbs and the relief mixed with the pain makes you cry that much harder.

You let your head loll onto his shoulder as he simply holds onto you for a moment. “I wouldn’t want my mutually caring person to die now would I?” he asks even though he knows you won’t answer, so you let him check you over before you test out your ankle. You conclude you’d be able to hobble if need be but you really shouldn’t.

“Moose and squirrel summoned and asked me to search for you while they went to a second location. Would you look at that,” he murmurs as his phone breaks the silence with a grating and shrill noise. “Just the two I was speaking of—yes I found her. She’s right here. Say hello pet.”

“Dean,” you groan against the receiver of the phone. It’s taken away from your face and there’s more noise on the other end of the line you can’t make out.

“No she’s not, but get your emergency kit out anyway. Right.” He flips the phone shut and slips it into a tailored pocket. The mention of Sam and Dean makes you long for the semi comfortable motel bed and a break from the constant damp of the warehouse.

“We gonna drive back now?” you ask once you’ve calmed down more. He looks at you questioningly.

“Since when have you known me to drive? I’m a demon Y/N and that means I get to travel the easy way.” He flashes you with that devilish smirk of his before tightening his grip along the back of your shoulder and waist only for you to pull back in surprise.

Panic and apprehension begin to rise in you at those words. “Wait what?” Your poor vocal chords can’t handle being louder so it comes out as a childish whisper. “How are we getting back?” You don’t know how much talking your voice is going to tolerate when it hurts so damn much, so you settle with not talking at all.

“Teleporting or well ‘popping’ there as you so enthusiastically call it. Don’t think we should wait for flannel one and two with you like this,” he grimaces after taking another look around the dirty and drippy warehouse.

The worry continues to grow inside of you as you wonder what will happen with this ‘teleporting’ and Crowley must be able to sense it. “Here then, put your head here and hold on like this,” he instructs with more care than you’ve seen in a long time as your head rests on his suit jacket shoulder and he guides your arms around his waist.

“Wait!” you cry and then scrunch your face up in pain. “He has my possession bracelet in his car,” you explain quietly with your head still resting against him.

“I guess we have one stop before we get to the motel. Close your eyes for a moment,” he warns as he snaps his fingers, then you feel it. If you felt tired and ready to drop before, you’re wide awake now.

It starts out like a tingle across your skin before it goes deeper and then amplifies tenfold like an electric shock. It feels as though the ground falls out from under your feet like a trap door, the world around you turns violently like a carnival ride, spinning and tossing your already weak stomach in every direction. The instant your feet touch solid ground you begin to sway.

There’s an impatient sigh next to you that makes you want to punch your savior out of frustration. “Stay with me here. I don’t want to carry you the rest of the way,” he gripes good naturedly and you have to grind your teeth to stop retorting and giving in to your nausea. When he leaves you, there’s a car door opening, shuffling noises, and then a slight tinkling noise of your charm. It’s pressed into your hand and this is the time you realize you should have gotten the tattoo like the boys did.

“Ready now?” You nod shakily, not excited for how the second ride will make you feel. You push yourself closer to him this time, closing your eyes tightly to block out the expected discomfort. There’s no tingle this time but the drop is more sudden leaving your stomach feeling like it’s coming out of your mouth, and the landing is far from graceful. Just as it feels like it’s too much to handle, there’s flat ground under your feet and your legs give out immediately.

“Y/N!”

“Y/N! Crowley what the hell!”

There are multiple voices talking and then before you know it there’s a trashcan being held in front of your face letting you puke up the remainder of your unfinished meal. Once you’re finished vomiting you settle for lying on the ground on your side, probably looking as pitiful as you feel.

“Here, let’s get her up to the bed,” you faintly hear Sam order and then the world spins under you for the third time as he picks you up (trying to be gentle). _‘I’m never doing that again’_ you internally whine.

“I promise it’s better when you’re not tortured,” Crowley taunts from what sounds like a few feet away but you can tell there’s a slight smirk on his face. You would normally be embarrassed for saying that out loud but for now you embrace the tough feeling of the motel mattress.

There are two scoffs close to you and as you open up your eyes, a blurry Sam comes into view on one side of the bed and an equally blurry Dean on the other side. “We’ll patch you up, don’t you worry,” Dean rumbles from his side. “You can go to sleep. We can take care of these, ‘right?”

“M’kay. Crowley?” you rasp quietly, looking up at the rocking ceiling before shutting your eyes completely.

“Yes, pet?”

“Thanks.” You never saw the smile that was adorning his face before he popped off again.

The next time you wake up the blood is gone from your face, the cuts are clean, and your wrist and ankle are wrapped tightly. The worst part though is that you feel like you’ve been hit by a train.

“Not a train Y/N, a demon.” You turn your head sharply to the side, giving a gurgled groan at how sore you are everywhere. You suddenly realize you’re certainly not in a shitty motel anymore but your own bed in your own room, back in the bunker.

You take a look around and then look back at him quizzically. He gives you the same half-mocking expression back. With an eye roll and shake of your head, you slide off your bed and hobble to the bathroom with a crutch left at your bedside. What you see in the mirror makes your stomach turn every which way.

There’s a cut along your forehead and another one in the center of a deep purple bruise on your cheekbone. The rest of you doesn’t look that great either. Rope burns adorn your wrists and the red of the cuts emphasize your paleness.

You don’t realize how long you’d been staring before Crowley clears his throat saying, “Looks worse than it is. Been there more than once.” There’s another beat of silence. There are so many words at the tip of your tongue that you want to tell him, thank him over and over, but you know that’s not a good idea. He tortures people and is a demon, but he’s also your friend. _‘So let’s stick with the basics’_ you tell yourself.

“Thank you for saving me,” you croak with your sore throat. “And thank you for being there for me. I couldn’t ask for better.”

“I believe you could. After all, how could I leave you with such a bad memory of traveling with me,” he smirks deviously and you know exactly what’s coming. “So, care to try again?” He extends one calloused hand and looks at you expectantly.

“Where will we be going?”

He thinks for a second, going quiet. “How do you feel about Italy?” The second you smirk, he smirks back.

“Let’s try Kansas City instead,” you snark back.

“Is that a deal?”

“Never. Just a trip with a friend.” The smirk is a dead give away though.


End file.
